A new found love on the 7 seas
by JessicaStarCrossed
Summary: Romano never thought he would get roped into this shit. Fate really does hate him. He doesn't know why, but things never go in the way he planned them to be. He got on a pirate ship who can be attacked anytime. Why care? At least, he has enough skill to survive. England never thought he needed to babysit someone, and what is with that boy that seems to pop in all his dreams!
1. Chapter 1: The bet

**Disclaimer: **

**I own nothing, not even (but I want to) the characters, mister Hidekaz Himaruya-sensei ****does. I own ****only this story.**

**Warning:**

**Warning for our dear lovely Romano colourful vocabulary. But England has his own portions of colourful vocabulary. Human's name used. **

**Hope you all like/love it and this two chapters are edited. **

* * *

'Fuck the stupid-tomato-loving bastard, he really _does_ have tomatoes for brains! _Che cazzo_! Now I'm stuck with captain Eyebrows or is it Caterpillar?—well that doesn't matter. Shigi... it could be worse, at least he's not so bad like that perverd-frog-face bastard of a France or the albino-potato bastard of a Prussia! _Mio Dio_, I can kill _that_ Spain, I don't wanna know what I will do to him, _Dio_, he's so stupid... Either way, I'm still screwed, I'm still going to be with captain Eyebrows-Catapillars. Hey that's a good name for him, yeah, that will do for now.' Romano sighs frustrated, 'So,...okay,... now how the fuck did I end up here again?'

* * *

~~Flashback~~

Romano just sat on the rails of the ship, gazing at the endless big blue ocean. It was new for him to go with Spain on a journey, the Spaniard mostly didn't let him come in case something bad happens, which is most likely to happen. So it didn't bother him too much. Until he noted someting, "Hey tomato bastard, is it normal that I see a English pirate ship?" Romano yelled, Spain who is clueless and obvious as ever, has no idea what Romano is yelling about.

So he crossed the deck and look at what Romano was pointing at, "Ah~, it's the damn, _cabrón Inglaterra_." Antonio said in a sing-song tone, obviously annoyed, he had a sickening sweet smile on his face, obviously a strained smile. It was—_is_ and always will be—creepy!

Spain shouted in a commanding tone, "Prepare the ship, amigos! We are going to kick some English ass~!" He turned to face Romano, with pleading eyes, and asked Romano who is stil sitting on the rails, "Lovi~ will you please go to the captain cabin? Wait there for me por favor, I have to fight some English bastards, " he muttered the last part, Lovino doesn't know if it was meant for him or Antonio who was just talking to himself like a creeper he always was, "who thought it would be fun to mess with me." His eyes shine with danger and in a flash it's gone. "Can you do that for me Roma~?"

The Italian looked in his eyes, with his light hazel-brown, with soft emeralds and golden specks in his irises, those eyes shone with little anger and, also dread?

the other brunet huffed, clearly bothered with the baby tone the curly brown haired said. "One it's not Roma, but Roma-_no, _get it right, you bastard, and stop shortening my name, bastardo. Two, no, no I don't want to." He said childishly.

"But why not?" He whined like a child, confused by the other brunet. "It's going to be dangerous here! So you have to go, _per favor_, it's for your own safety." The brunet pleaded again.

"Because, I don't want to!" Romano said crossing his arms irritated.

"Don't act like a child, Roma!" Antonio snapped displeased.

"Then, don't treat me like a child!" He shot back annoyed.

"Touché." He said out loud. "Listen to me for this one time! Please..." His voice trailed off, in a soft whimper. _How could he not see I care for him? Was it that difficult?_

Silence.

"When did I ever listened to you?"

"Um, never?" It sounded more like a question then an answer.

"See?..that is what I mean." The Italian deadpanned. "No." He stated abruptly, "Because you're always fighting, and... and, I just can't stand to see you in pain." The Italian looked away with a hurt expression in his irises even though...never mind.

"Fussosososo~ so you do care about Boss~! Boss is so happy~!" Spain was back to his usual carefree self, clearly happy with what his little Tomatito said. It was weird for his little Tomate to say something like this.

Romano who is now beet red, "Chigiiii~ i don't c-c-careaboutyou, _pomodoro_ bastardo!" He said talking fast and head butted Spain in his stomach.

"Aww! Roma~ that really, really hurts!" Antonio said, cringed in pain.

"Please Tony, let me stay here on the deck, I'm not going to fight, I promise."

Romano who knew that Spain never can stand him using his cuteness and his big puppy-eyes, and what Spain said 'cute' pout, also Romano used his secret weapon the shortening of Spain's human name. Combining those 4 things, Spain cannot say no to Romano. Not. Ever. Even how much he wants to resist those things, he always give Romano what he wants.

"Roma~ you're so cute~!" Okay. But you have to promise me that you're not going too fight. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal."

Spain gives him his hand and Romano gladly shakes it.

"Good luck ! Don't let England kick your ass to much!"

"He won't Roma~, he won't." He whispered in a cold tone.

Romano runs and climbed up in the crow's nest, just in time to see that the ship from England is close. "Spain, he's coming!"

"Ah~ gracias, I can see him already. Man, prepare to fight!"

* * *

Meanwhile on the other ship.

"Prepare to fight man, we're going to kick some Spanish bloody arse!" A certain British accent barked, that person is well known under the nations as England, and under the humans as, the most dreadful pirate on the 7 seas, pirate captain Arthur Kirkland and he is not for noting the pirate King. He's the ruler of the sea, and ruler he will stay.

His man is ready, so is himself, with two swords loosely in his hand; he's ready to fight.

_It's show time._

* * *

Meanwhile on Spain's ship

"They're coming, prepare!" Spain is ready, so is his man, with his grand grand battle axe in his hand, victory wil be (finally) his. He will have his revenge for his precious Armanda.

_ It's show __time._

* * *

England's ship docked right on the left of Spain's ship.

England who is now wearing a evil smirk, and his electrifying green eyes shone dangerously at Spain, "So, _Carriedo_, are you prepared to let you're bloody arse kicked, wanker?"

Spain who now is also wearing a smirk, that face doesn't belong to him, to his cheerfull self. Spain narrowd his forest-jade green eyes at England, they shone with, anger, fury, but the most, it shone with pure hatred, "Fussososo~, I don't think that will happen today, _Kirkland_," he spat Arthur's name with pure bitterness, it always leaves a sour taste on his tongue, "Because, the victory will be _mine_."

"Oh, really? When did you ever kicked _my _arse, you twat?" He asked incredulously.

"Let us make a bet, shall we?" The Spaniard said out of the blue, his usual carefreeness coming back again but his eyes still shone with hostility.

'Huh, he just suddenly changed the subject.' Arthur thought. But he is curious at what the wanker has on his sleeve. "A bet? What kind of bet?"

"It's a simple one~. If I win, than you have to do whatever I please. But if you win," the conquistador voice lingered in a sort of a mocking tone.

"What if I win? Spill it already, you wanker!" England snapped impatiently, count on the stupid Spaniard to be a drama queen. He would never change.

"If you win... then you can have Romano/S. Italy, for a entire month."

England raised one of his bushy eyebrow, and then, he smirked maliciously, "Oh, really? Are you sure?" Spain nodded, "Alright then, you made yourself a deal." He said, compleiying by the other st

They shakes their hand, and when they prepare theirselves to fight a bloody fight, a loud, yet familiar voice shrieked,

"Chigiiiii~?!" They both looked up to see, a very, pissed and furious Romano.

* * *

In the crow's nest

"They are going to fight soon." Romano mused, "I wonder who will win. Probably England, I never saw Spagna beat England."

England was wearing a long blue captain's coat that reached a little bit past his knees with matching golden emblems and epaulettes, the labels each engraved with a Tudor rose. The blond wore underneath his coat a plain white ivory shirt, fastened with a cravat around his neck—which supposed to be more "gentlemanly", yeah, right, they're pirates not high ranking officers. What a joke—and a green silk sash around his waist that concealed most of his brown leather belt holding two Flintlock muskets and two sheeted British officer rapiers which was rare and uncommon among the Pirates that rested dangerously on his hip. He was rumoured to be a legend with those swords, very precise and deadly. He donned a dark brown loose trousers tucked in knee-high black combative boots, laced all the way to the top along with a pair of white gloves made with the softest fabric for a good grip and a black tricorn captain's hat adorned with a lavish white plume. He has small pendants in his ears, mostly rubies and emeralds and a blue silk blue ribbon—that machted his captain's coat—tied in his somewhat sandy golden long blond hair and his usual smirk adorning his handsome face.

If Romano doesn't now better, he would say that England is hot, very hot, but also scary with that evil smirk adorning his handsome face. He wil _never _voice that out loud. That will be plain embarrassment for Romano. It wil be Romano's own, little dirty secret.

Spain was wearing something similar to that of England, only his captain's coat was red and it reached almost to the ground with the same golden emblems and epaulettes, the labels engraved with the Spanish Royal House. The conquistador wore underneath his coat also a simple ivory shirt, fastened with a white cravat around his neck and a yellow silk sash around his waist with a brown belt underneath, holding two silver pistols and his usual grand battle axe in his most dominant hand, even with that big killing weapon he's still fast and feline. He donned a black trousers tucked in brown knee-high combative boots without laces and a pair of dark gloves and a brown captain's tricorn hat adorned with a green lavish plume. A red ribbon tied in his curly chocolate brown hair and two small rubies in each of his ear.

Yep, that's what Spain usually wears, the only thing that seems odd, is that he is wearing a smirk. Similar to that from England's smirk. He will never say that Spain is hot, no. Not. Ever. Spain is his 'Boss', the man who raised him, cared for him, he see Spain like a brother to him, maybe even a father. It's weird to call your brother/father hot, well in his opinion, that is.

All of them has a dominant aura around them, everyone knows that if they fight it was pretty close. All of them are legends. You do not wish to cross their path, nor want to make them mad, only if you have a dead wish but even so, a fool would never dare do something stupid and foolish like that. Beware for what you say and speak. Get on their bad side and your done for, you're a feast for the crowds or sharks whatever fits their mood at that moment.

"What the fuck are they talking about? Wait a minute... He want to bet me away?! Chigiiiii~ ?!" Romano shrieked.

The heads from Spain and England shot up looking for the surge of the noise. They found Romano looking at them with wide eyes.

"Roma~ don't worry, Boss, will win," he said confidently, grinning—in the italian's opinion stupidly—his eyes flickers in the blond's direction waiting for his response.

"I don't think so, _Carriedo_, you wanker!"

"Don't worry," Romano shrieked, "Don't worry?! I have all the reasons in the world to worry, you pomodoro bastardo!"

"But Roma~ I promise I will win, I can hear my voices say that I'm going to win." He said, confident in his voice and determination shone in his eyes.

"Your voices!? You're voices, my mother fucking ass! You're voices don't like you, Antonio." He stated harshly.

"They do like me, Roma," the conquistador pouted childishly, "When did my voice ever said something wrong?" Spain questioned.

"Wel you kindly asked, for starters:

One; you thought that a _fucking_ linx would make a _perfect_ pet for me.

Two; they told you too let those Bulls lose without _completely_ taming it."

"Hey, it's now my country's national sport!" He defended himself.

Romano gives Spain a death glare, to tell him to 'shut the fuck up or someting terrible will happen'. Spain who cannot read the mood, even if it can saves his life—most of the times—for once sensed the mood and wisely shuts his mouth.

3, they also told to you to _skinny dip _with, _fucking sharks_ in Tenerife," Arthur snickered at that one, Antonio shot him a dirty glare. "Face it, Antonio, your so called 'voices' hates you... Cazzo! Hpmf, you now what? Fine... fine, do want you want! But if you lose,"

"I won't."

"Yes you will, you twat!"

And they're bickering again.

The Italian who has enough of there constant bickering, shouted on top of his lungs, "Will you, bastards, shut the fuck up!?" England and Spain immediately stopped at seeing Romano's scowl. "Thank you." He huffed, " Bastard, if you lose, I will come downstairs and kick your sorry ass around so that you cannot stand for a entire fucking week! Do you understand?"

"Sí, sí, I understand." Spain rolled his eyes.

With that said, they looked in each other eyes. All the same look in there eyes, power hungry, even with murderous looks in there eyes, and the same evil smirk on their faces whenever they fight against each other.

"Ready to lose again, _Carriedo_?" The blond spat, poison and venom lacing his every word.

"I'm ready to kick your ass anywhere, _Kirkland_." The brunet has a devilish grin plastered on his face.

With those words said, their weapons clashed.

* * *

"Chigiiiii~?!"

A familiar voice shrieked, if Spain's crew members doesn't now better. They would exactly chouted those words, but only different, of course.

The crew members where shocked, because they never saw there captain manage to beat that English bastard.

And the cherry on top, is that their captain is betting his 'cute' little henchmen away. They all know is that their captain will do everything for his henchmen—so they thought, but they should have known better. So...way betting him away? The idea only is already absurd, impossible, but they all know that it's true. They only can hope, pray and wait that their captain would win.

* * *

They stood across each other like they did multiple times already, but, this time things would get nasty. Spain was spinning his axe back- and forwards, his eyes sharp to every moves, breaths his opponent made. England was scrutinizing Spain, his eyes drawn to the Spaniard's form, he was trying to read him and he had his officer's rapiers loosely in his hands. None of them were moving, but they did circle each other like an eagle waiting to strike his prey. But the question is; who would land the first blow?—and who has the most dangerous attack? Britain or Spain?

"Ready to lose again, _Carriedo_?"

"I'm ready to kick your ass anytime, _Kirkland_."

Their macabre dance has started, the brunet and the blond were first to swing at each other, trying to land a blow—equally were fast—their weapons clashed. The sound of metal clinging rhythmically in their ears, pushing each other off, resulting in them sliding a few paces back.

Spain was the first one to recover and the first to strike, the blond, too, was fast to react and blocked it with ease and practiced skill. His left hand was breaking through Spain's attack, swiping his rapier at the brunet's neck. The Spaniard senses were on sharp, he leaned backwards and falling on his knees purposely to hook his dominant foot under the Brit.

The pirate collided on his back, Spain who was naturally taking advantage of the situation rose back steadily on his two feet and swinged his grand battle axe down at the man underneath him. The Brit rolled over and takes his two pistols out, he shot the first bullet and the other managed to rebound it with the blade of his axe and it took another path. The second bullet, however, the brunet couldn't avoid and took the hit in his shoulder—just a flesh wound, nothing too bad.

Spain's finger drifted to his new wound—it's not so deep—and smearing the red, thick liquid on his digits, eyeing the red substance before licking it and spitting it out like the most disgusting thing he has ever tasted in his entire lifetime.

England looked at him boredly, "Do you like it?" He asked. "Your blood, I mean." Britain clarified and grinned like a insane person—maybe he was insane?—his electrifying green shone diabolical, sadistic and malicious.

"_Maybe_." Spain hummed at the question, it wasn't an obvious answer but it would do. "But I like _your_ blood better!" He stated abruptly while swinging his grand battle axe down vertically to England. The blond blocked it expertly with his rapiers crossed and started pushing back.

This was a test of strength, the first one to back off was the loser. And believe me, they aren't going to back off anytime soon and neither of them wanted to loose either.

"Why don't you back off, _Kirkland_?" The brunet spatted venomously.

"In your dreams, _Carriedo_." The blond responded with venom lacing his words, "ah wait, I take it back, even in your dreams you can't win from me." England smirked sadistically.

"Why do you want to win?" He asked annoyed and clearly pissed off.

"Maybe, because I have a reputation to uphold." He snapped, what a bloody, shitty question!

"Let me rephrase my words," he started pushing harder, "what is Romano to you?"

"Good question," he started pushing equally harder, "but before I get to that point. It's, "who is Romano to you". Your henchman is not a thing, _Carriedo_! He's a _damn living person!_" He barked, pushing even harder—if that's even possible.

Spain needed to take a few steps backwards otherwise he would fall and resulting in his probably—more likely—loss. "I know that!" He shouted angrily, "I was thinking that maybe you are the one that views him as a thing!" He pushed harder, how dare that, that devil think that he views him as a thing! He would never do that!—right? "And answer my damn question, _Cabron_!" Spain was pushing a notch higher.

"I don't know! That's my answer! Now shut up about it, you moron!" fury was evident in his electrifying green, he struggled to keep up with the pace, but that doesn't mean that he would give up. _Maybe_ he doesn't know why, but one thing is sure, he had his pride on stake and he _won't_ lose it. He _wouldn't dare _to.

"I thought so." Spain mumbled inaudible, even with how close they were—face to face—England couldn't hear him.

They backed rapidly off when a dagger whizzed past them and stuck in the hard wooden deck floor. A strong wind gusted by the dagger, it was going at an abnormal speed, no human or _even_ a nation could've thrown that _and_ precisely too, or was it a lucky throw? They discarded the second thought—it was way to real to let it be luck.

"What the bloody hell?!" England shouted.

"_Qué mierda_!?" Spain yelled loudly and looking frantically to his left and right.

"We're the fuck did that came from?!" England shouted.

"I think, _Cabron_, that it came from above." The brunet said whilst pointing a finger in a random direction in the sky.

"No shite, wanker!" England snapped irritated. He knew that!

They all looked around but the only one they saw was Romano and he wouldn't hurt a single fly, all bark but no bite. Oh how wrong they're. And they don't believe in miracle or magic either—aside from England but he's the only one. They don't think that a bird randomly flyed by and dropped a dagger right in front of their noses. As if that would happen, right..? So Romano is their only logical choice but even that seems impossible. It doesn't make sense at all!

They looked where Romano supposed to be, he looked down on them with mild interest, leaning over the support railings on his elbows with a bored expression on his face, scrutinising and scanning the area with hawk's eyes and searching for every single detail. "What!?" The younger brunet barked loudly when he couldn't handle the staring anymore.

"Roma, I know this is a weird question, but, did you throwed that dagger?" Spain questioned softly like he was a porcelain doll and holding the said dagger in his hand. It was certainly a beautiful piece of weapon and certainly crafted expertly with the best materials and with love?—, Spain noted.

"Do you really think a bird would drop it?" Romano inquired in a sarcastic manner, venom seeping in his wounds like poison.

The Spaniard flinched by the harsh tone, "Well, no, off course not!" Spain stuttered in panic, not sure of what to say next or even better, explain why he accused Romano of such things. He coughed awkwardly, drawing all the attention of the rest to himself, "You promised not to fight, remember?" He changed the subject.

"I didn't _fight_, I _interfered_." Romano stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Isn't it practically the same?"

"No, it's not, dumbass."

"Ouch, Roma, my heart." He said dramatically, posing like he was fainting.

"Whatever, you moron." The younger brunet rolled his natural coloured eyes.

"Even so, " he began, "no fighting or interfering." He said with a seriously look in his jade eyes.

"Fighting? Sure, no problem. Interfering? No promises."

"Roma..." He said in a warning tone, looking at him with a dark look in his eyes.

"Fine, fine! Whatever, _bastardo_!" He snapped bitterly, if he didn't have interfered, Spain would most likely _lose_ their strengt test. But, he should let it be for now, there isn't much things he could do now any ways... After all, he needs to wait when the timing is right.

* * *

Meanwhile

Romano had climbed off the crows nest a while ago, he looked at the scene with an unreadable expression on his face, there's a storm of emotions in his eyes that most of the crew couldn't place but his face blank to mask his eyes, but they weren't fooled by it. They could see the conflict in his hazel-green eyes.

He stood by Spain's crew members. He got a hand on his left shoulder from Spain's first mate, he looked in his eyes and saw pity, sympathy but also a unsure look in those dark brown eyes, those eyes said, 'It's going to be alright, you don't have to worry.'

He just nodded and looked away, but they all know it's not gonna be alright and that nothing would be fine. But it's doesn't hurt to hope, right? Well, his hopes didn't last long before he saw the older Spaniard trapped against the wall with not much room to wield his halbert.

The brunet saw Spain trapped against the wall, he wanted to scream, shout, yell, everything to make him escape, but he can't, it's not his fight. He can't do a single fuck. But maybe... No, he _can't_. He shook his head, not this time...

The older brunet saw the horrid, painful look in those beautiful hazel-emeralds with golden specks eyes. And it saddened him. Because he was the cause of it, his beloved henchmen would never react like that, he was foolish to think he would win against nemesis. Now he has to give his Tomatito away. It's all his fault, he will never win against that Cabron. Why did he even suggested it in the first place

'No, you can't lose, do this for Romano.' with that single thought in his mind, Spain manage to pull one of his pistols out just in time when the blond decided to make a blow to his neck. A rapier in Spain's neck and a pistol on England's temple. Who would win? What is faster, a rapier wielded by England or a pistol wielded by Spain?.. They glared in each other eyes with the same hostile glint and taking deep breaths, panting heavenly from exhaustion even if they didn't know why.

After a few more moments, Spain took the first step and pulled the trigger, England—thanked the gods that he was granted with fast reflexes—he stepped aside letting the bulled passing swiftly through the air, the brunet took advantage from the newly made distance, dropped his pistol and swiftly took his halbert to land a heavy vertical blow and thrusted his axe as fast that it would allow him to.

"Bloody hell!" England cursed loudly, he expect something along those ways but he didn't thought that Spain would make his combos this quick. He was thrown off his balance with the thrust attack, and a bloody wanker that he was, the brunet swung his metal dead machine down at the other empire, if the Brit didn't rolled over on his left side he would probably be cutted in two slices and he whished to stay whole. He rolled a bit over and swung his legs 'till his foot touched the hardwood planks all in a matter of two seconds, the blond blocked the upcoming charge attack with his swords crossed and rooted his foot on the ground, not wanting to lose his balance now in the heat of moment, otherwise he would be in _big_ trouble.

"_Maldito sea_!" Spain cursed indignantly. He was so close and for the first time _winning_! The Spaniard wielded his halbert back with two hands—like it's supposed to—to create even more power. He may have the upper hand now, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't be wary around Inglaterra, he could turn situations with a flick of his writs and Spain doesn't want to risk to lose because he was being ignorant and arrogant that he though he still had it under his control. He attacked in a matter of seconds, more specifically aiming to chop England's head off in a not much of a graceful fashion.

They contiunued on and on like that, sparks _literally_ flyed and shooted everywhere out the metal, taking their macabre dance to a whole higher level, they couldn't see the speed that they were clinging their weapons only feeling the slight gush of wind that erupted with it.

Romano followed every moves with wide, open eyes. He was definitely happy at Spain's comeback. But how long will it last? How long would it take for England to beat Spain? He know whatever Spain will do, England would still win. It's a shame though, he hoped that the older would win, but the chances are low.

He can see it, _sense_ it, after all, he _knows_ it, it's takes a good fighter to know a good fighter, only, Romano is better, way a better fighter than England. He has a lot of experiences that he would carry with him for his entire immortality, sometimes upon a night, he wished on fallen stars that one day, he would be freed from his duties to live a free life without much worries about _his_ creed—_their_ creed.

Spain doesn't know, doesn't have to know his secret, and Romano doesn't want it another way, Spain _doesn't_ need to know his '_dark_' secret; the _darker_ side of him. He doesn't have to know that his beloved henchmen is not so innocent as he thought. With _time_, when the time is _right—_but the question is; when is the time right?_ H_e would reveal his secret to the whole world, but for now, it's better to stay hidden in the dark, in the shadows. Something, he's good at... He doesn't have to know how much people he killed and assassinated, rich or poor, woman, man, children, young or old, everything and _anything_ would do for him, because he could care less about how many people he killed. He just wanted _justice_ to prevail, nothing more nothing less. But sometimes, their dead faces follow him in his darkest nightmares, hunting his memories like a long dead ghost seeking vengeance. It was better that way; to kill them quick, clean and swiftly before they, the childeren, would become like their family. He has no remorse but sometimes he questioned his own sanity.

When he is a assassin and a damn _good_ one as well. He is called Romano because it means 'a man from Rome' and Shadow Death—mostly because he hides in the shadow and nobody has ever seen his face, he's practically a ghost, a rumour—he is the second most feared assassin—if they _even_ know he was an assassin. A bed time story for little children who had been bad, it's just only a rumour... right?

But that is besides the point, the point is that:

England has fast reflexes and good fighting skills. He is a expert with swords—he noted that much, hell, he is probably good with knives too, it wouldn't surprise him if England has knives in his boots or somewhere else. Romano saw England using a gun before, that bastard is although quite handy with a pistol. Romano may not be skilled with pistols but he has few trump cards of his own. The pirate bastard is very skilled when it comes to one on one fight, he has a powerful right fist, and a good left kick. The younger brunet also heard this certain rumour that the Brit killed the whole Man 'O War crew on his own whilst laughing and cackling maniacally and sadistically like he was the devil in person...but it was just a stupid rumour, but the Italian wouldn't be all too surprised if it was true.

From his close observations, England has quite a few special moves. Romano still don't know what, but with time, he will know all the weaknesses from England. After all, he _is _a professional assassin. Romano wants to use his weakness against him. When he has to fight or assassinate him or something else. Better safe than sorry, right? But something was hindering him from going further in his scrutiny, something to do with a long past memory.

Somehow, England lost his two rapiers a long the way, it went flying in two opposite directions and got stuck in the hardwood, England couldn't retrieve his weapons, it was too far away from his current position. He was trown out of balance with the next set of fast combos, he could mostly dodge them all but he lost his footing and stumbled. England who was hopeless but also not quite, he maybe doesn't have his swords but he still have his knives. With one swift moment he got up from the deck floor. Gracefully pulled his knives from his boots and blocked the upcoming attack.

"How many weapons do you have!?" Spain was flustered, not because he has to go on defense again, oh, no, not because of that. Each time when he want to attack, England blocked or in this case pulled knives from his boots. _Oh come on_, who still does that?

"As much as I needed, you bloody wanker! I don't have to tell you that, do I? I think you also have other weapons hidden on some parts of you're body." Wh does this idiot keeps on nagging? Can't he not just shut up for a few moments! Stupid Spaniards.

"Well, yes of course, better be prepared, sí?"

"Yes indeed."

Spain blocked few fast thrust attacks coming from the Brit and countered with his own. He got an advantage, his weapon _is_ made for long range combat while knives are made for fast, quick strikes, it has a short range unless you throw it, of course. If he can manage to make England stay away from his rapiers he would be fine. But even so, wielding a large weapon like an axe takes a lot of energy and power.

'Huh, the wanker is tired, he is losing his strength with each time he blocked and swing. When I can feel the change I will strike, when he last expected it.' England smirked at that thought, 'Then his cute henchmen will be mine for taking. Wait a bloody minute... did I just called South Italy cute? Yes indeed, I did called him cute.' England blushed, 'Damn the frog for giving me those perverse thought of his. I really should stop listening at the damn bloody frog!' England shakes his head clearing those thoughts of him and getting rid of his blush.

'They are both tired, but they don't show it,' Romano mused, 'Tomato bastard, is more tired than, scone basterd, he is going to lose his strength sone. When that's going to happen, scone basterd will strike. Powerful, quick, but above all, professional. Spain has no chance in winning at this rate, actually, he never has a change to begin with. He cannot win from him, why don't he just accept it?' Romano shakes his head in disapproval. 'Aah, the bastard is smirking, he knows it, when the time comes he will strike.' Romano mused, 'Huh, why the hell is he blushing?' The younger brunet questioned to himself, 'Must be a stupid thought.' He looked again at the fighting scene in front of him.

'_Dammit_, he _knows_ it. Stay _sharp_. Be _alert_...'

Spain blocked the attack from England. But what he doesn't know is, is was a feigned attack. Spain was flustered, England who saw his chance swiftly cut Spain's arm, out of reflection Spain axe fall out of his hands, grabbing his hurt arm and stumbled backwards. "Mierda!" Spain cursed, rage visible in his eyes, you can't let emotions get the best of you, España!

Arthur swiftly hid his knives back in his boots in one movement and clenched his fists tight together. Arthur landed a hard blow on the Spaniard's stomach, who automatically bend over from the pain. Arthur landed another blow on his left jaw, another on the right, grabbing the Spaniard's collar and slamming his right fist in his stomach, making the latter bend over and stumble backwards. Arthur who made use from Antonio's confusion and pain, grabbed his wrist and throw him over his back. Antonio who tried to stand up again got a foot against his shoulder blade. Man, what does that hurts.

He managed to get away when the Briton tried to slam his foot back against his shoulder. He rolled away just in time when the Briton's foot comes down, he stand back on his feet, trying to ignore the pain on his body. He really lost count on his bruises delivered from the said Brit and spits the blood out of his mouth. And he took a fighting position, his jade eyes following every move the blond made. He blocked the fist with a single hand and countered with his his left fist which is blocked by the Brit, England took advantage from the split momentum, he brought his leg in the Spaniards knee. His knee twisted in a weird angle, Spain took a risk and kicked at England, aiming for his foot, and successfully sending the blond stumbling backwards, before quickly reversing their position, forcing the Brit on his back. The brunet grabbed a handful of his collar and charged his dominant hand, landing a heavy blow on the other's jaw, and sending England flying a few feet away—heavily panting.

England stood back on his foot, and regaining his footing and balance, he didn't got all that much time and change to defend himself when Spain rammed his fist in his opponent's chin, delivering punch after punches. Without giving the blond time to retaliate, the brunet continued to alternate his punches and kicked the shorter male away to create a distance again. Not once has the blond toppled over from Spain's blows. He did, however, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, smearing the red substance on his white shirt and glaring pointedly and sharply at the brunet with his vibrant green eyes. Which is why that the brunet smirked.

Spain charged at him again, the right hook that was aimed to his face was expertly dodged, and the right swing aimed for his stomach was also quickly blocked with England's right hand. The slight transfer of momentum sended the Spaniard flying over England's shoulder—à la England style—flipping Spain on the ground. England didn't have enough time to pin the brunet down and he took advantage for it to sweep the Brit's foot of the ground causing him to lose his balance.

"I know all your tricks, _Diablo Inglès._" Spain spat whilst England regained his footing.

"Obviously, you don't know them good enough." England remarked dryly, sarcasm and venom lacing his words. As Spain moved to kick him, his English opponent countered with his own kick—a perfectly high kick that propelled the Spaniard a few paces and with a perfect and calculated timing he made a high roundhouse kick that made him fly and crashing down the floor. Before he could stand up again, the Brit had him already pinned his wrists above his head with his left hand and whit his right hand pulled a knife out his boot and held it against the brunet's throat. The blond made sure with his knees that Spain could not stand back on his feet.

"I won again, _Carriedo,_" England stands up with a triumphantly smirk on his face and panting, exhausted and worn out from their fight. Giving Spain his hand and pulled him up. "But I have to say, _Carriedo_, it was our longest fight that we ever had. And it's not because that someone interfered us." The blond looked for the Italian brunet, but he couldn't find him anywhere, it was like he simply disappeared.

Spain looked at his feet. Oh, how much he wanted to cry right now. Not only did he lose to his arch enemy, but he also have to live without his dear Romano for a entire month. Life sucks.

"Sí, it was our longest fight and I lose... again,"

"Chin up, mate! You did fight good. Next time better, I guess." He responded amiable.

Spain's head shot up looking in the Brit's electrifying green eyes for someting he cannot place his fingers on. But he only saw sympathy.

"Sí, next time better. But Roma is still going to kill me."

England raised a eyebrow, "Romano wouldn't kill you, you raised him and all," but he had a unsure look in his eyes, and quickly added, "I think?"

Antonio laughed a little bit at the last comment. "You don't know mi Tomate like I do. He always comes back to his words. I'm going to be so dead." Antonio groaned and complained.

The brunet received a pat on the shoulder from the blond, "I don't think it would be that bad. If you are lucky, he does it quick." The blond gave a encouraged smile.

The brunet doesn't know if he should take comfort in those words and smile, but he doesn't.

"Yeah, if I'm lucky, that is."

Taking a few deep, calming breaths. Spain turned around to face his Roma, but his henchman was nowhere to be seen. The only persons that he saw where his and England's crew members. The crew from England where proud of their captain. His crew members where disappointed at the loss of their captain. He cannot blame them, the only one who is the blame, was himself, he was foolish enough to challenge the king of the 7 seas.

"Do you guys saw my Romano?" The Spaniard asked.

Either shook their head or shrugged like they don't care.

"I'm not your 'Romano', asshole," a familiar voice yelled behind the Spaniard's back. "I never was. Other than that you raised me. I never was your 'Romano'." Spain quickly turned around to see that the Italian is already stands beside the Brit.

The Brit was stunned and chocked. What the bloody shite?! How could he not hear or saw him coming?

He looked up to see that Romano had already packed everything he needed for his stay on England's ship in a shouder-bag but what Spain saddened the most was the violin case in the Italian's hands.

When he was very upset, the latter would express his emotions by singing or playing instruments. When he is very pissed, angry or furious or both, he will trash the ship upside down and scream bloody murder. Now, that was a sight you don't want to see.

One time Romano was _so_ pissed and angry that he begins throwing books and chairs, then with bookcases and beds, than throwing knives at lightning speed, at that moment he and his crew members retreated in a small cafe or pub, not far but also not close from the harbor. Waiting for the storm to calm down.

When they thought that the Italian should be cooled of, they returned back to the ship. When they reached the harbor they saw the Italian sitting on the dock with his legs against his chest and his head on his knees, looking at the beautiful sunset.

Romano who knew that there was a present behind his back just shrugged it of and stared at the beautiful sunset in front of him.

But what traumatized them the most was:

One; there was nothing left in piece or not damaged.

Two; his armada was sinking, yes... _sinking_. That was one of his best armada, it cannot just _sink_ like that!

Three; his armada was on _fire_, oh hell to the yes... _on fire_. So far that he knows he doesn't have explosives or something that can go on fire on his armada. So, why in the name of the holy Mother Maria is his armada on fire?

At that moment they eyed eachother and silently vowed to never make Romano _that _pissed or angry. Hey, you cannot blame them, they don't want to be ripped to shreds and for a unknown reason standing on fire.

He didn't dare to look Romano in the eyes in the eyes. Taking a few, deep calming breaths to calm himself down. It wouldn't be too bad, it wouldn't be too bad, he chanted in his head.

He looked in those rare yet beautiful eyes, those hazel-emerald colored eyes with golden specks screaming so many emotions, anger, mad, pissed, furious, sad, betrayed and depressed, after seeing so many emotions boiling deep in Romano's core. The Italian didn't show how _mad he really was_, or how _hurt he really is_. Romano is so strong, Spain is so proud of his little henchmen. But after seeing so many emotions in those gorgeous gems, and all directed to him. That make the Spaniard look at his feet again. "Roma, I'm so sorry that I cannot make my promise true." regaining his posture, and that he knows for sure that he will not run away and cry in a dark corner or dig a deep hole for himself.

Man, what do he need to man up! The Spaniard looked Romano back in the eyes.

"Don't. Call. Me. Roma. How many times do I have to tell you to not call me that, dumb as fuck tomato bastardo." His voice was deadly calm it hold no emotions, but his eyes betrayed him... badly. The younger brunet looked away from the Spaniard, looking at everything but not at him.

He was deeply hurt, who was he kidding? His boss bet him away because of his foolishness, and now Romano has to suffer, he has no say in this stupid bet of theirs. Spain took a step to Romano whitch Romano took a step back, Spain took a step Romano took a step back, again, again and again until the Italian back the as flat against the wall of the ship.

"Roma, I am so,"

"Don't finish it, bastard. If you are truly sorry, than you wouldn't have bet me away, asshole! So... that means that you are not truly sorry."

"Romano, I am truly sorry." shaking his head, regret clouding his eyes.

Arthur just looked at the scene in front of him, he didn't want to interfere at their argument or be the victim of the Italian's wrath—he heard of what happened to Spain's armada.) He didnt want to get caught in their screaming match. "Don't finish it, bastard. If you are truly sorry than you wouldn't bet me away, asshole! So that means that you are _not_ truly sorry."

"Romano, _I __am_ truly sorry! I made a big mistake! Please, just please forgive me!" Spain begged of the Italian.

"Forgive you, bastard?! Forgive you at what you done to me!?" His shrieked, his voice cracked. His eyes started to be a color of a pool of smelting gold with here and there emeralds specks but it didn't shed tears yet, he _wanted_ to, but be didn't. 'Only weaklings show their emotions all the time. I'm not weak, I'm not as weak as _fratellino._' With a confident nod, the Italian looked back in the Spaniard forest-jade gems, holding no emotions at all, like it's was never there to begin with. It was gone, _vanished._

Now the Italian was glaring at Spain with a icy glare, daring him to take a step in his direction if he did he will undergo a slow and painful torture and then death. The Spaniard was oblivious to that but he _did_ sensed the deathly aura coming from Romano and wisely lifted his arms in a sign of surrender and backed of.

Romano ran a hand trough his neatly tamed auburn hair, turning a lock around his finger and gently tucking on it, tucking a few strands behind his ear with his left hand, but they just fell back. Still glaring at Spain when he suddenly said, "Dio, I don't have time to deal with this shit." He pivoted on his heel, with his back facing the Spaniard and his glare focused on the Brit in front of him.

England was a little bit shocked that the Italian's wrath was now directed to him. Coming back out of his shocked state he returned the glare. But England was a little bit uncomfortable under the tension of Romano's glare, so he is the first one to break the ice, "What!?"

Romano still did look England in his electrifying green eyes but he didn't glare anymore, much to everyone relieve.

"Scone bastardo, you have to live with me for a entire month, because of someone," he turned his head over his shoulder and shot Spain a dirty glare, Spain's vision clouded with shame and guild. Romano looked back at England. "You have to live with my, like the most people like to call 'moody' and 'shitty' attitude. So don't you _dare try_ to complain about my 'moody' and 'shitty' attitude, do you understand?"

England just nodded he doesn't have the strength to deal with a certain angry southern Italian nation.

"Alright, I can deal with that." He nodded. "I have to deal with a pervert-frog face and a way to _energetic_ Alfred."

Romano raised a eyebrow in a 'I don't give a single fuck ' look, but he did have a curious glint in his gems.

England didn't understand way Romano is being curious, but soon his coin fell. "Ahh, Alfred is America, you know, from over seas."

"Oh?" He said confused, " I think I saw him once time... Yeah, he reminds me of my stupid, idiotic, pasta-loving _fratellino. _I don't understand where their energy is coming from."

England cracked a smile, "There are some mysteries that you just cannot solve."

Romano give England a half subtle smile in understanding how it feels to himself.

England could only admire the rare, yet beautiful smile, it would only be more beautiful if it was a full smile.

He gave Romano a gentle smile and his hand for him to shake, "Truce?"

"Truce... for now." He shakes their hand confirming their deal with a playful smirk.

England returned the playful smirk, "Yeah, for now."

"Come on, scone bastard! I have to stay a whole damn month on your damn ship, I can make it for us both a _little_ bit better!" 'Maybe it would not be so bad as I thought. We'll see.' Lovino mused.

"My armada is not a damn ship, wanker! We'll see, you daft little git!" His words may come out harsh, or many because it was? But it's was more playful and a little bit joyful. "Come on! Step on my ship, git! I don't have all the time of the world, you know!" He said it with a little playfull smirk on his lips.

Arthur's crew were already on their ship and he hopped back on his ship. Only Romano was still on Spain's Armada.

He turned to see the Spaniard, he had no emotions in his eyes, but there is someting, someting in the way he eyed the Spainiard, like a look of a killer when he was going to kill someone, cold, heartless and no regret, he is going to do what he has to do. But he also has a different aura someone who has power and is not scared to use it.

Why does it felt like he saw those eyes once a time. It was a long time ago, but he still remember. How could he not when he saw such a brutal murder, the walls painted red with the blood of the assassin's victims.

_No, it can't be, it's just can't! _It's just a_ hallucination! Nothing more, nothing less. _

The older brunet knows that he lost his henchman thrust from there on. He could see it in his eyes.

"_I hate you._" the words carried by the passing wind. A look of shock and bewilderment on Spain's face and leaving his heart cold.

With that he calmly pivoted on his heel and the dress swirled with his sudden movement and calmly walked away and hopped on the English grand ship. He gave a little finger wave and shouted, a smile on his face—a pained one, "Bye, _figlio di puttana_!" and said it in Spanish.

But not before he saw the broken and shattered face that the Spaniard made.

England ship sets sail, slowly fading away in the beautiful sunset.

~~End flashback~~

* * *

That takes us back to the present

_Snap!_

* * *

**A.N.: **

***Walks out the door named 'Hell'* Hello, it's me, JessicaStarCrossed, the horrible writer with shitty updates. You all are probably angry if you have actually a writer like me. I know if I wasn't the writer of this, I would be mad too. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed it! It's almost been a year since I have last updated it. I didn't change much, only the fighting scene took a lot of my time and I was being lazy! *rubs neck* Hehe, sorry guys! I really want to make that scene awesome, but I think I epically failed, *shrugs* whatever. I'm just _damn happy_ that it's updated, it has been a while! **

**Well, that's also lifted of my chest. I want to thank a few people for favouriting and following also thank you for your time to review! It means _very_ much to me! **

**There are not much changes only except that instead of 'Lovino' it would be 'Romano' but I have my reasons, you guys would figure it out when this story actually _does_ progress. Also, this is going to be mystery because I have my reasons *twirls hair*. **

**Oh, I write most of my things on paper first, the very reason why update is so slow, I just mostly type it over when I have time and am not being lazy (which happens a lot btw). So, yeah! I'm a slacker. Don't judge, you know your like that too! But even so, I'm a perfectionist ****(a surprise right?)****, that's why I edit it a lot and am not always completely satisfied with it most of the times. **

**Im going to stop rambling now! Thank you for staying with me! Thank you for everything, your support and the like! I'm grateful for that! **

**Sincerely, **

**-JessicaStarCrossed **

**(ps: if you pester me enough, I might update frequently or as soon as humanly—for me—possible) **


	2. Chapter 2: Canta Per Me

England put on his blue captain's hat to go with his coat, marked with one long white feather. With a loud voice shouted, "Light the anker, man! Let's call it a day! We can set our journey tomorrow!" He turned around to see that Romano is looking at his new surroundings. "Like what you see, wanker?" He says with a playfull smirk, "You can wait in the captain's cabin, I have to help my man with somethings." He adds.

Romano rolled his eyes, "Don't flatter yourself, idiota. I saw better things than your damn ship." He answers wryly.

England places a hand on his heart in a dramatic fashion and has shocked expression on his face to ad more drama, "She is _not_ a damn ship!"

Romano rolled his eyes and bows dramatically, "Well, of course, _captain." _He adds with a sarcastic voice.

This time it's the blond who rolled his eyes, "Wanker, now shoo, I have things to discuss with my crew." He says with a shooing motion of his hand.

The brunet dramatically bows again and says with a small smirk and sarcastic voice, "Whatever you wish, your _majesty_." regaining his posture, he pivots on his heel and left the deck to go to captain's cabin.

Again, the blond rolled his eyes and turned around his heel to face his crew.

"You know, captain. Womans brings bad luck on the ship." A heavy, dryly American accent said on the right. That voice belong to one of his trusted crew and drinking buddy, a tall American with dark auburn-brown hair, tanned white skin and maroon-violet eyes. His name was Jaison Johnsens. All the crew members laughed including the Briton himself, it don't last long until a loud heavy Scottish accented voice barks.

"Way are ye all laughing at!? Womans brings bad luck on the ship!" A tall Scotsman with short auburn red hair, porcelain tanned skin and green eyes, like forest at nighttime green. The Brit left hand and strategist named Allistair Miller or Scot, Scotty for friends and the 'big' brother of Dylan only by a couple months, the same father but not the same mother. He got the surname of his mother.

"You know, wankers, it's a _he—_he is a _boy_!" He says dryly, Arthur has tears in his eyes and his stomach begins to hurt because of so much laughter, he never has laughed so much.

"Say _what_!?" They screamed in unison. Now they are confused, how could they not know that he was a boy?!

Arthur and the other members of the crew finally managed to control their laughter and where just as confused, "Wait a minute you didn't know he's was a boy?" A confused voice questioned, it belongs to a heavy Wales accent on the left. That voice belong to his first mate and quartermaster, a Welshman with unruly reddish-blond hair, tanned porcelain skin and the same electrifying green eyes like the Brit forest meadow eyes only a shade lighter. His named is Dylan Owen. He got the surname of his mother, and he was happy that it was like that.

"And I thought you have experienced that already multiple times, Scotty." Arthur chimed, his green eyes filled with mirth and certainly there's malicious glint in his green depths and he was trying his best to contain his laughter to minimum.

The scot blushed heavily, "Stop it would ye?!" He snapped, irritated that his captain brought _it_ up. "And stop laughing!"

They try to stifle their laughter but failed in the process. How could they not!? The thought that their beloved Scotty with a man was enough to make them laugh even louder. Much to the redhead's dismay.

After a few more minutes, they _finally_ managed to control their laughter and was now sniffles and chuckles.

"Yeah, ya couldn't see his physical appearance." Jaison said it dryly. "Did he go through gender bender confusion or something?" He joked. He was trying to light up the mood, so that the Scot wouldn't be all too furious, if it's going down this road...they may have to scrape a few of their mates off the wall because of Allistair tantrum. And it's also not a pretty sight to see.

"No, I can guarantee you that he is all in all a boy." The Brit answered. "But I wouldn't say that to his face you know, you shouldn't test his temper." Arthur warned, "You know the story of that Spanish git armada?"

"The one that nothing was left in piece or not damaged?" Jaison asked.

"The one who was sinking? It is was one of his best armada." Dylan questioned.

"The one who was on fire, even that he didn't had explosion or things that could go on fire on his armada?" Allistair mused.

"The one who is now on bottom of the Mediterranean coast a little bit before Spain and Portugal?" They all said in unison, the thought only makes them shudder of fear.

"What is with the damn ship. It's only a rumour or the ship was cursed." Jaison said it with a nervous smile on his lips.

They all nodded.

"Well, you see lads... he was the cause of it."

"_What_!" They all screamed in unison a few notes higher than their original voices.

"No, I can not believe that!" They all shake their heads in disbelief.

"He's a, no, wait, it's just ... can't." Now they are completely speechless, they stumble over their words and are little scared, again, you can not blame them.

They all silently vowed not to test the Italian's temper. They don't want to be on the bottom of the sea or ocean, like the Spanish wanker's armada.

"Well shit, I think it's better if we don't tease him, I don't want be ripped to shreds and standing on fire. I'm too beautiful for that and I am still young." Alistair mused.

They all looked at him if he had grown a second head. Like, seriously!?

"Who are you... the frog? I thought you had more confident in yourself, Alistair." Arthur says dryly, he even added a playful smirk adorning his lips on his handsome face.

"Easier said than done, Artie! I don't want to be on the bottom of the sea or ocean!" Allistair shrieked.

"If you don't test his temper you should be fine, Al." He answered dryly, he quickly added, "Well I think?"

"Well no shite, Artie," he says it dryly, sarcasm in his voice "no, _know_ I know that I shouldn't test his temper." His voice and words were dripped with sarcasm, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, we should diffidently _not_ test his temper, if we want to be dead or something, _than_ we should test his temper." Jaison joked.

"Jaison I don't think you should joke with something like _that_." Dylan warned. Dylan mused, "Say, Artie, how did you know that?"

"Yeah Artie, tell us!" Alistair persisted.

"Art, tell us!" Jaison's voice boomed, almost blasting your eardrums out.

"Captain, tell us!" They all chorused in unison.

"Okay, okay, you nosy wankers! Bullocks! The git told me," they all raised an eyebrow, almost asking how, but they consider waiting for their captain to explain it, "we where in the same city at that moment and we were going to the same pub and that git was drinking tequila. If I remember it correctly, he said, "'My Roma' destroyed my best armada now it's on the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea and Roma is mad at me and gives me the silent treatment." Arthur imitated Antonio's voice.

They almost wanted to howl with laughter some even had tears in their eyes.

"What now, gits? You wanted to know and now all of you are almost laughing! " Arthur barked, really, sometimes he just can't understand his crew.

"Sorry, Captain! Wee were just laughing wee can't understand how you could imitate his voice, it was really good!" Alistair almost shoked on his words, he grabbed his stomach, it starts to hurt from so much laughing.

"You all wanted to know now you know, now all you wankers are laughing?" Arthur's loud, commanding voice snapped.

"Aye, aye capt'n." They all churosed in unison, louder then it should be.

Arthur rolled his eyes but he had a gentle and a pleasant smile on his lips, "Gits and all of you are bloody wankers, do you know that?" He added playfully.

"Wee know, but ye still love us, so ye are stuck up with us like it or not, captain." Alistair said it with a playful tone and had a small smile or smirk (Arthur can not tell) on his lips.

"Yeah captain, you're stuck with us!" Jaison beamed, smiling his signature thousand watt smile.

"Yeah Artie!" Dylan never said much but he _did_ allowed a smile gracing his lips.

"But still, I don't know why he is wearing a maid dress." Jaison mused. "Not that he is not cute in it!" He let a small perverse smirk gracing his lips and licked his lips at the thoughts why.

"Shut it, Jaison, you nasty wanker!" Dylan shouted and jabbed his elbow in the ribs of Jaison, who kringled in pain and pulled a painful face, he gives Dylan a nasty glare, but the Welshman chooses to ignore it.

"But know that you mention it, I also must wonder why he is wearing a maid dress. It's frilly and a nice shade of forest meadow green just like the irises of our captain here, it does compels his eyes though. Romano's eyes are quite," the Welchman searched for the right words to describe the Italian's eyes, until he finds the right words he slammed his right fist in the palm of his left hand, "U_nique_, they are unique!" He nods comfirmly, and giving himself a mental shoulder pad for his choice in words.

"Unique... Huh," Arthur mused, "Well, yes, they are quite... unique... Good job Dylan." Arthur gave him a gentle pad on the shoulder of the Welshman.

"Back on the topic." Alistair said with a devious smirk, "Why is he in a maid dress?"

"Well, I don't know, do you know Artie?" The American asked.

All there heads shot up in the direction of their captain, maybe he knows why, waiting for a explanation.

Arthur just shrugged and backed off, "Why do, _you_ gits, think that I know?" Arthur questioned. "I don't bloody know, if I should know, I would already bloody tell!" Arthur barked angry.

All the members of the crew raised their hands in a sigh of surrender, they don't want too have their captain's wrath directed towards them.

"Chill out, dude! It was only a simple question, you don't have to bite our nose off." The American replied fearfully.

The Briton closes his eyes, takes a few deep calming breaths to calm his nerves, god what does he need rum or tea to really calm his nerves. "You wankers can rest in your cabin or stay on the deck, but don't make too much noises." He said, changing the topic real quick—not wanting to deal with the mess they would make. That's a bother for another time.

The crew know that their captain just changed the topic, they are not that dumb. "Aye, aye capt'n!" They all chorused somewhat lightly, they don't want to spoil the mood.

"Whatever, gits," Arthur gave a lighthearted wave, "have fun!" With that said, he turned around his heel and left the deck to go to his cabin, where Lovino is waiting.

* * *

Arthur enters his cabin, taking his tricorn-captian's hat off and his blue coat. He slowly passes by Lovino, not noticing that he is suspicious quiet, he sits in his chair and he lifts his feet lazily and placing it on the caramelled colored sycamore desk, making himself comfortable in his chair.

He only notes now that the Italian is quiet. The latter had a dreamy, spacious look in his irises, like he was thinking of something. A glassy look in his, oh so beautiful irises, making them transparent and he could swore that there was a white shade on his orbs.

Now that he looks closer, the maid dress that Romano is wearing is a nice shade of forest meadow green (the same color of England's eyes), compelling his slight tanned skin and his hazel coloured eyes infused with light-jade green and with little pools of gold here and there in his irises, perfectly and naturally.

His sleeves of the maid dress was T-shirt like fashion, he had a white shirt under his green dress, rolled-up to his elbows, a silk red ribbon fastened loosely around his double collar—replacing the place of a cravat, compelling his dark-auburn hair with a copper glimmer. His dress reached a little bit past his knees not much, only a few centimeters, there was a white layer underneath, making the dress look frilly and a little bit puffy not by that much and not really girly. Above the green dress there was a white silk apron reaching about then centimeters above the dress self and tied behind his back with a large ribbon around his slim waist. A pair dark brown boots with black laces reaching his knees.

Te Italian looks stunning in those clothes! It should be a crime! Everything compells him... It looks so... naturally. Shaking the thoughts of him away and pressing his emotions down. Wonder what he is dreaming about.

He's too long in his own thoughts.

_Snap!_

_Snap!_

England has to snap two times before the amber green eyes flushed open.

Romano stares confused at the Briton's fingers, he blinkes a few times before he knew where he was, a little bit uncoordinated. The brunet has a terrible deep scowl plasters on his face and snapps heatedly, "What do you want, captain eyebrows-caterpillars bastard!" It is not a question but a command.

Arthur raised his hands in surrender, not the tiniest bothered or scared with the brunet's glare. He doesn't even bother to hide the frown on his face at his new nickname, seriously, he did nothing wrong to make the brunet mad and now he is insulted, just like that! He just shrugs and answered at the previous question, "Nothing, git," Arthur remarks, "just thought that you should come back to reality." He says honestly.

"Bastard." Romano says nothing more, he just crosses his arms underneath his chest.

Feeling the mood tense and awkward, Arthur changes the topic with the first item he saw, the violin case resting on the southern Italian nation lap.

"So... You play the violin?" He inquires nonchalantly but still awkwardly, hoping that the Italian would take the bait.

Romano did sensed that the Englishman tried to chage the topic to a lighter one, he thought the Briton would say 'how was the weather today?' question. But nonetheless, he takes the bait. "Not really, actually, I planned to smash my violin case in your head multiple times." Romano meets the Brit's bewildered, confused and 'What did I do to make him want to smash his violin case in my head' panicking look, he rolls his eyes by the British captain's dumbness but snickers at the sight.

"It was a joke, you dumbass!" He sees that Arthur quickly relaxed his body, but the brunet didn't gave him the time to reply properly and continued anyway snot waiting for responses rom his conversation partner, "Yes, I do play the violin along with other music instruments. Like the piano, guitar, flute, harp, etc."

"Can you play a song or/of piece for me?" The curiosity is clearly recognizable in his voice.

Much to Arthur's surprise, the latter grinned diabolically.

"I didn't hear you say the magic word." He says in a singsong voice, his grin reviled that of a Cheshire cat.

The blond almost wants to swipe that grin of his face—it was awfully tempting—but he swallows his dignity and pride down, "Please." Oh now, it was tempting to bang his head on the surface of his sycamore table. Now he only treasured the only little bit of pride and dignity he has.

"Sorry, can you say it again? I didn't hear it good." He says it innocently but his irises had a devious glint and his grin could get no more wicked but it _did_ after seeing that he crushed, crumbled, shattered and completely broked the blond's pride and dignity.

Oh, you would be punished, dear Romano, he thought evilly. "Please!" He says it louder, but doesn't look in Romano's eyes only increasing the wicked grin the Italian whore on his plush and plumb lips. Gaining his courage and scraping the little, _little_ bit of pride and dignity that the Italian literally danced, crushed, crumbled, shattered, stamped and pulverized on. It was a sight he never _ever_ in his whole granted immortality will ever see, it was the wickets grin he ever _saw_ in his _entire _life _and that's coming from him, the pirate King._

"Was it so hard to say the magic word?" He recommends innocently, making Arthur growl under his breaths and glare heatedly at the Italian, but the brunet ignores it, _nay_, he doesn't ignores it or him, he is _again_ deep in thoughts. Does he has that much things to think of?

_Snap!_

He snapps inpatiently with his fingers and pulled the Italian back on the planet.

"Uhmm, sorry," he drops his gaze hiding his blush behind his auburn bangs, "I was deep in my own thoughts."

That was something new, Romano is a proud half nation who can stand his ground despite being family off northern Italy, and being complete the opposite of each other. But he swallows his pride (making the revenge that the blond was planning milder), apologizing is hard, heck he knows it, he himself doesn't apologize quickly even if he knows he was wrong (Britain _is_ and _will_ be a proud nation). That the Italian apologized for something so little surprised and startled him.

"You don't need too apologize, lad!" Steering the conversation into a lighter topic. "So, what are you going to play?" He chirps.

"You'll hear, Brows." Ignoring (again) the icy glare sends his way.

Romano put his violin out the case, putting the violin against his neck. He played the first notes, it was low, slow, soft - but above all—full of sorrow and sadness.

Arthur closes his eyes, making himself comfortable in his chair and relaxes his muscles letting the music wash his duties away and calm his nerves.

The brunet watches Arthur's calm expression, while still playing the violin, with a soft and calm expressions on his face—but sadness, misery and sorrow clearly evident in his amber with green pools orbs. The Italian played with no particular song in mind, the notes come and go, overlapping each note, changing the melody with another and another, again and again. Lovino flicked his wrist at the right time over and over, his movements may be slow - but they're precise. His notes overlapped eachother at the right time and moment.

Soon he's playing a song he was all _too_ familiar with. He played this piece already a thousand times when he was depressed or when he needs lights to shine in his own darkness and twilight. What was better than nighttime? When the earth is covered in a thick blanket of darkness, but the moon and the stars shining bright in the night sky giving enough lights to clearly see the paths that you _must_ chose and take, but still guiding you out of the lonely and miserable darkness.

Lovino closed his eyes for a moment recalling and remembering his sad, miserable and dark past, of being hated and unloved—when he still was a chibi nation, when he had for the very first time blood on his hands, staining his clothes—but above all—sucking slowly his rational mind, heart and soul away. When the years past, leaving a cold, heartless, bitter and soulless personification of south Italy behind. Lovino who hide in the shadows, twilight and darkness it self, knowing no better tomorrow and the beauty of the sun—making the day bright and clear.

Only knowing the hard and cruel reality on this goddamn planet earth. He stands strong on his own two feet, bearing his country's burdens and duties and the sins he committed. Only having his mind and his shared secret hiding place as sanctuary. _His_ sacred ground.

He has a sanctuary where no people—aside from bees, rabbits, birds and deers.

That was their sanctuary, they could talk for hours, play and fool around in the day—him and his best friend Siam. Their secret and favorite hiding spot was beautiful, magical and mysterious—at nighttime, when the fireflies, stars and the moon came out and gazing stars, wishing on the fallen stars - both knowing that the wish would never be fulfilled, unless you do it yourself. They had surprisingly founded identical the same place in Siam, the same as their personal secret hiding place on his southern part of Italy.

The same green gras, the same types trees, the same glittering, crystal saphire blue, little lakes at day. But when it's dark at night—it's more beautiful in Lovino's opinion—the lakes hold a mysterious aura to them, and the stars and fireflies only increases the atmosphere. Surprisingly to both of them, the smell was also the same—the gras, nectar and sweetness of the flowers—all the same. The only but only different was the night sky with the stars kilometers far away. You can't expect that the stars would be the same at two different places. But it's was still..._magical_.

A perfect picturesque. The sweet scent of the flowers, the ghost swaying of the green grass, the rustling of the leaves, the calm aura and the hypnotising sound of the water. It was simply _perfect_.

Lovino's second sanctuary was: his mind.

Having his mind as his _own_ personal sanctuary—but then again—his mind is literally messed up, fucked up and so...twisted, like, a tornado leaving a path of destruction behind him.

Where nobody could hear his shouts, screams, yells and shrieks in agony, the cries and the pleads he makes and begging for God to make it all fucking stop. He was tired of being strong, standing his ground an taking all the blows, hits, cuts, wounds and etc., his nose and chin high in the air walking on the goddamn surface with no fucking care in the world, trashing it, like his own personal playground, like...nothing could touch, shatter or break him down in thousand pieces...but they did—they could touch, shatter or break him down in thousand pieces.

The people he thought they loved and care for him...didn't—maybe at the beginning—but when Veneziano come in the picture, they dropped him like a hot rock, they where the reason the brunet's fall, fall and fall—in a dark abyss—to the person Romano becomes and now is.

Veneziano was showered with attention, love, kindness and adoration. Veneziano has just to snap with his fingers and smile his cheery and oblivious smile, everything he wished for, asked for and craved for—he got it, he got it all served on a golden plate.

The Italian on the other hand must work hard for it, reach out for it and it he must let them hear his voice—otherwise he would completely fade in the background.

But then again Veneziano is the 'better' half of Italy. Who wants to befriend a cruel, crude, rude and foul mouthed person like Romano himself—when you can befriend a cheery, bubbly and happy-go-lucky Feliciano? At least there is one person on this planet, who care for _him _and loves _him_, and that person or nation is...Siam.

She always will welcome him with wide open arms and a pleasant, dazzling smile. Always giving him advise, cheer him up when he was feeling down, and she is the only light or/of star guiding him on the right path—shining brightly and clearly for him, and _only him_. All what a good—very good friend/sister/mother figure would do. She would never judge him or prefere and compare Romano to Veneziano or choose. She simply doesn't care what sort of bullshit it was, she didn't care about that shit anyway.

She always looked at the person on the inside not the outside not _what_ he is—but _who_ he is. That as one of the things he like about her along with her stubborn will, strong and independent character and good and caring personalities—but be warned, you can mess with her and fool her around all you want. But don't push her over her limits, she can hold her temper long and stable. But don't say something bad over her family and friends ans especially do not say bad things about them in her presence—that's when you cross her line. She's very protective over them. Bad things would happen when you do it.

Her temper then is bad and short, she would explode right in front of you—but her mood is a different story. Her caramel colored brown eyes flashing dangerously ad the speed of lightning bolts in a iron glare, sharpening her gaze, making them cold, calculating, emotionless and soulless, throwing poisonous daggers and knives, piercing it in your flesh, carve and burn her glare and gaze in to your mind, heart and soul—showing you _who she really is_ and what she _can do_. If looks could kill you...you would be dead in a blink of a eye, less then a second. You will never feel at ease when she's angry at you.

But to her families, friends and not the ones who caused to awake her wrath, she's kind and caring.

Don't let her carefree and enthusiastic manners and her signature carefree smile fool you. She's wild, fearless and sometimes when it must...emotionless or a better way to describe her is an killing machine and a great tactician—on the inside. Siam is straightforward and blunt, she always would think twice before she would make her move, she always knows how to use and make the situation to her own advantage. If you think you _got her._..you _don't_. If you think _you_ got _her_ in _your_ trap...it _doesn't_, _she_ is the one who got _you_ in _her_ trap. Siam always has a secret and different motives in her previous motives.

She can change the battle to a different outcome that you predicted, like, a game chess or a game cards, changing the situation with a little tricks here and there. Turning the table upside down.

And not to mention her fighting skills with different techniques. One time she would use a sword—and the next time a bow, as in martial arts, there're precise and deadly. Siam is unpredictable in many ways.

So far Romano's friend; Siam, with two completely different sides.

The brunet would still remember the soothing words when he busted Spain trying his hard to trade him for Veneziano. He was so angry and deeply hurt, he stomped to Spain with a very angry scowl—much worse than his normal scowl—and pure hatred on his face but sadness shining, clear and brightly in Romano's orbs.

He stomped over Spain and head-butted him straight in the stomach with so much force that the Conquistador fall, making the Spaniard fall from the force and writhe in pain. In his fall the Spaniard managed to knock the Austrian aristocrat over, like domino stones.

Tangled in a mess of limps, the southern part of Italy shouted, yelled and screamed in agony against the Spanish nation, letting the anger, frustration and sadness take the best of him, letting his tears roll freely down his tanned and red cheeks, not caring anymore if he looked weak in front of him or somebody else, he didn't care and nobody would. They saw the heartbroken face and Spain immediately regretted his decision to trade Romano with Veneziano.

"I thought, I could trust you!" he screamed, "I thought you cared and loved me! But you are the same like everybody who prefer Veneziano over me!" Romano screamed each words. Soon he was loosing his strength and voice. His heart was already shattered and broken, he was tired to lose against Veneziano, tired of being compared to him, tired of making room for him—but above all—tired of being second best.

_Why fight if I know I can't win from the beginning? It's just a lost cause._

The tears wouldn't stop falling, before he completely would break down, Romano left away running, no paying mind to the pleads Spain makes.

He runned and runned to his secret hiding place and found that Siam surprisingly was there.

She stood directly at her feet at seeing him come with her signature smile, but it soon faded away at seeing him cry. She had a worried expression on her face, running at his side and embraced him tightly, asking what was wrong to make him cry like that.

Romano did not hesitate to tell her everything.

At hearing his story, she gently swiped the tears away with her thumbs.

She just smiled, yeah...smiled. But it was her real smile, not the smiles she wears to make the people around her comfortable.

She said her words lacing with gentleness and care and utter adoration, "Oh, Rovino, you are perfect the way you are now. Why would you change yourself because the other people want that?" Siam spoke his real name, she's the only one that he allows to call him by his real name. But she spoke further, "It such a shame that the people only see the hard layers from you, not seeing the real you."

The last words was the ones that he the most loved, that was when she truly smiled her smile and looked directly at his eyes with her caramel brown eyes. "They see you as; pathetic, useless, weak and clumsy. You are not pathetic; you're beautiful. You're not useless; you're brilliant. You'are not weak; you'are strong. You're not clumsy; you're creative." a pause. "They didn't saw the paintings that you made, didn't hear your ideas. Most of all, they only saw _what you are and_ the mistakes that you make, they didn't see _who you are really_ and don't see that you _at_ _least_ _try—try _to make the people around you happy _and_ for your people." Her voice was honest and so was her heart.

"Thank you." That was the first time since forever that Romano had smiled.

His eyes flushed open and the song was done before he even realize it.

Romano found England staring at his face. Coughing awkwardly, he pulled England back out his transe.

"Your smile," England hesitated.

"My smile?" Romano repeated, he didn't notices that he smiled.

"Your smile is bloody gorgeous." The Brit exclaims.

The Italian turned a gorgeous shade of red, redder than his beloved tomatoes, that even could make a sherry jealous. "_Grazie_." He mutters shyly.

Arthur returned the smile and a nodded, asking what he played.

"Canta per me. Sing for me." Romano explained.

"It's beautiful but...sad?"

"It is sad." His smile crumbles to a blank look.

England notices that the Italians eyes where a bit watery but the tears didn't fall. Unbeknownst to his own action, he leans closer and cups Romano's adorable reddening cheeks, stroking the cheeks tenderly with his thumb. He could feel the softness of the brunet's cheeks through his leather cloves. Arthur lost his focus, staring deeper and deeper in those earthy eyes. Losing his rational sense.

He leans closer and closes, until his warm breath brushed against the soft, red looking lips, just a few millimeters away from the brunet's lips, like, a phantom's touch.

Romano is unable to pull his gaze away from the green eyes, leaning in his comfortable touch. He only manages to jerk back to reality when the English nation's breath brushes against his lips. His eyes wide like the size of the moon, panicking and shocked, he falls backwards, flailing his arms wildly in the air.

Arthur manages to jerk back from his trance. Seeing that the brunet was falling, he tried to catch one if the Italians arms but he failed.

Romano falls backwards with the chair, making a nasty impact with the hardwood deck floor.

Everything is black for his eyes, his head spinning around, paying no mind to the cries the Brit makes.

'Can I ever get out of this mess? Can someone help me? Rescue me?' Romano thought grimly, 'nobody would safe someone like me. I'm alone in this world. Even Angel cannot help me.'

And everything wend black before his eyes.

* * *

**A.N:**

**Yay, finished! I didn't change much here but mostly edited my wrongs and grammar mistakes. So yeah, the better version. Hope you liked it. The 3 chapter will come out soon, I promise, I just need a little bit more time. It's just that I've been very busy and it doesn't help that the exams are coming. Le signs, I'm going to be _so_ dead. **

**Anyways, thank you for everything again! Stay tuned for the next chapter! We'll dive in history then...**

**-JessicaStarCrossed **


	3. Chapter 3: Assassin

Romano wakes up with a terrible headache from when he had fallen, he still sees black dots before his eyesight. Rubbing his slight soar spot. He has a damped cloth on his forehead and signed in relief when he notices that he still has his maid uniform on. Romano still doesn't know when that Spanish bastard decided to put him in a dress—a maid dress for God's sakes!

But hey! Look on the bright side, he could hide his weapons from onlookers or his assignment target view of sight.

He tries to sit straight, as soon that he tries he just falls backwards again on the soft pillow, when the dizzyness and pain overwhelmed him. He would like to try it again but it would be resulted in him wobbling on his feet like a drunkard and the outcome would be that he would fall flat on his face in a comical way. So, no thank you.

Feeling still dizzy and his vision still unclear, Romano analyses his new surroundings. So...he is not in the captain's cabin, other wise there would be maps, compass and weapons and some other shit. So, that makes that he's now in the cabin's boy cabin. The only (escape) way out is the door or the window, he signed trough his nose in annoyance. The window is too little, so he can't escape from there—even when he is slender build. Slender _not_ feminine. Get it right bastards!

The door creaked a little bit open. Romano close his eyes and covering his eyes with his left hand, his eyes where still adjusted to the dark, he could see trough his eyelashes a small glimpse, a head with unruly golden blond hair, but most importantly where the enormous eyebrows that where certainly crunched in pain. The door was now fully open and there stepped a strong and well built looking figure to his side.

Feeling better and knowing that his eyes where now adjusted to the light and that he did not feel dizzy anymore, he tried to sit up again.

The figure steps closer and sits on a chair that Romano never sees in the first place. How the actual _fuck._

"Are you feeling better, Romano?" His words dripped with concern for the lad, who was bedridden for a few days.

"I'm fine, bastard. How long I'm I passed out?" His voice cracks slightly, his throat feels dry.

Pinching his nose thoughtfully, the blond captain replies, "About almost," he pauses, thinking thoughtfully, "a whole day." He answers and gives Romano a glass water. A whole day huh? Still thirty days of torture to go. Damn, it would be a _long _month. "And we have a problem." Going straight for the jugular.

Taking the glas, drinking it in one gulp, the water feels cool and refreshing against his soar throat. "I know. That person's name is England." Romano remarks sassily.

England rolls his eyes but let it slide, he nods in reply. "Can you stand up?"

"Yes...why?" He interrogats the blond captain next to his bedside, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Well, eh-," Arthur rubs the back of his neck in a sign of nervousness or that he don't know how to explain the current situation or the combination of both, the brunet thinks it's the latter, "well you see, there's a enemy ship sailing our way," he tried to explain, Romano nodded, silently saying that he can continue, "it's sailing quite fast in our direction."

"Yes, I understand, but that is not everything? Just tell, bastard, I will not bite-," the Italian paused for a moment, searching for the right words, "yet. Maybe," he continues "who knows."

Taking Romano's bait, he continued. "Look, Romano...I promised to the git that no one would harm you—got it?" Romano nodded in understanding, but there's something that's not quite in place. It's about Spain, he knows that Romano can take care of himself, better than he thinks, actually. So...why suddenly care for him?... Ah, now is the coin rolling, that bastard felt bad about wanting to trade him away. That would explain his attitude and why he's overprotective over him. It's just pity and sympathy, nothing more, nothing less—no love nor did he care for him. Just fucking _pity and sympathy!_

"There's a small boat waiting, by the speed it's going now, you still can step on the boat and one of my crew will bring you in safety and away from the canons shots-," England continues, looking at Romano if he understands him, but just founding him staring rather blankly, with a grim expression.

_Snap_!

Romano was pulled back to reality, staring at England's fingers and blinks a few more times before looking at him irritated and pushed the pale fingers down, away from his face.

"Seriously, git?" He said in disbelief, "I don't know why you always are deep in your own thoughts, but I have to say; it's not the right time to be dreaming." telling it nonchalantly, his tone dry lacing with sarcasm.

Romano's bridge of his nose turned a light pink colour. Averting his gaze downcast in shame. "I was not dreaming," he muses, before correcting the bastardo biondo, "but...thinking." Yeah, thinking...

Swinging his legs to the left side, gracefully and feral and standing up. He stretches his soar muscles and limps, sighing in approval when it made a loud cracking sound. Sitting back on the bed satisfied, facing the blond. "No need to, bastard." He deadpans.

Arthur raises a bushy eyebrow, giving his conversation partner the time to explain himself rather then jumping to conclusions. Which is kind of sometimes a pain in the arse.

"I need to release my anger somehow, in someway." Saying his point, Romano's voice was bored, uninterested but despite that—England can see past his façade. He sees it all in his earthly hues, a wild flame burning and flickering wickedly, mischiefly, deviously and diabolically, his eyes sparkling with excitement and an unknown and untamed monster bubbling deep inside his core—waiting to be released. Oh, he certainly don't want to meet that beast inside him.

Despite all that, he can see something lurking deep inside the dark, black abyss of his mind, sealed shut behind lock and bar, seeing no emotions in the dark depths of his eyes. No emotions; a heart colder than ice, stronger than steel and harder than diamonds.

Stopping his observations, he questions, his voice silent, worry all written in his eyes, lovino must strain his ears to hear what he wanted to say next, "Okay then—if that really is what you want?" Arthur is unsure of what the outcome would be, he's talking about pirates, violent and crude humans, living on the fear of other people. But who said he wasn't like that?

"Sì, that's what I really want." He states, his voice stern, firm and confirming.

Arthur rakes a hand trough his golden locks, giving the Italian a understanding curt nod, the blond pivotes on his heel, walking away to give Lovino's order and giving the lad some privacy. Opening and closing the door, the captain leaning against it with his full weight.

Muttering quietly under his breath, his voice nostalgic, his forest green eyes looking in the distance of the open sea, admiring the freedom the sea gives and provides, searching for the right memory, lurking inside the black depth of his mind, written in the page of the history book, "They act the same...yet are each complete opposite." Chuckling sadly when he found the right and pleasurable memories flashing before his eyes, a single tear managed to come out, blinking it away before more tears can come.

_I'm going to do it, Arthur! I know I can, you can't stop me! _

"Why is that I remember his joyous laughter and innocent smile, but not his face?" He ponders aloud.

He takes a shaky inhale of air, he stood back straight, going back to his crew.

His steps are confident and his aura; strong, independent—and above all—dangerous. After all, you don't what too mess with the infamous king of the pirates—and certainly not when he is in his element.

* * *

Romano stares at the door where Arthur disappeared, singhing in relief when the footsteps slowly faded away—what fellt like hours—but in reality where just mere minutes—but he's still alert for any signs of suspicious movements.

Searching rapidly for his violin case, there was no reason too panic, Lovino finds it rather quickly, it lays on top of a smal desk in the corner—an innocent violin case,...yeah right. What makes it so special that there was a hidden layer, a second bottom, hiding the weapons from praying eyes and curious onlookers. If you take the violin and its necessarily garments all out...you see nothing but just a black bottom. If you press on the right places with your fingers than the first layer would loosen and then you can take it away. He slowly stepped to the table, opening the violin case and placing his finger on the middle and one on the end, pushing it down, it opens with a soft _click_!

First there where the gift of his good friend Leonardo Da Vinci. Two exactly the same wrists-protectors, decorated with the Assassins symbols and curved perfectly that it fits his wrists, it reached almost 'till his elbows. It was made of special and light steel, it's like having a feather bound around you arm, it's also strong and it can block many attacks—but that's not the only thing that makes it special. There're two other mechanism that you couldn't see at the outside of his palm, only at the inside. There are knives hidden inside the protectors, the knives where two times the size of his hand, they're slim and thin, made from silver. It opens with a soft _click_! The enemy won't know what happens until its too late, then he's probably already dead or one of his limbs are cut off. The second one are little knives build inside the protectors, each has six of those little weapons hidden inside. It also comes out with a soft _click_! It's pretty accurate at everything in a radius of twenty-five meters. A silver glint is the last thing you'll ever see, 'till everything goes red and your vision is black.

"Ahh, Leonardo really is a genius." The assassin muses aloud, not even bothering to dim his voice if someone will hear him, chuckling darkly by himself.

His green-hazel and amber eyes moves to the next object in the case.

His eyes landed on two little bottles, the content filled with poison. It differs how you uses that poison, you have that person's death in your own hands. A single drop on open flesh can kill you in a matter of days, weeks even _months _if you used a smal amount. If you use a large amount poison on your weapon, even if it just a little scratch can kill you in seconds or minutes. That part of you people body become numb—'till in falls out your body, it will continue like that until it reaches your brains, when that happens your instantly dead. Poison is clean, simple to make and it never leaves a mess. That's a dirty trick from Romano, how much he likes to use it, he wouldn't—not this time—not now—not anymore. The madder the assassin is, the bloodier it would be.

_I'm not mad...but furious_.

Third there're his throwing knives, they're half the size of his hand. They are made of pure black steel, even in the dim light, they shone with a misty silver colour. He has twelve of those knives with him. "That would be enough—if I collect them afterward, that is." He ponders out loudly, swirling the little murder weapon around his fingers expertly. Lovino calls them 'Morte nera' meaning 'Black death'—logical but scary, right? Before turning briskly around his heel and throwing the knife away, just like that. Little did you know he actually successfully cutted the right wing of the fly, innocently flying by.

He raked his fingers through his neatly tamed brown hair, while turning around and humming a dark tone.

Then the last, where his favourite weapons, 'Angelo della morte' translates to 'Angel of death'. A gift from his master, friend and fellow assassin. A pair twin daggers whose form where thin, but strong—they are made of the best and top quality materials after all, you can't find many steel that is light and strong at the same time. They're roughly the size from the tips of his fingers to his elbows— maybe a little shorter, but not that much. It was forge to perfection. The assassin fingers ghosted on the inscription that was gracefully carved in the two daggers, it says 'Quod non occiderit, fortior. What doesn't kills you, makes you stronger' He traced the pattern to the tip of his dagger, wincing when the tip broke a little bit past his skin. Sucking on the droplet blood until it was gone, he thought by himself, 'If this could make me bleed a little, simply imagine what it would be if I throw it at my normal speed. It would pierce trough your flesh and breaking your bones, going out your body, leaving a decent hole in your body.' From that moment on his thoughts became maniacal, sadistic before continue thinking, 'Spattering, splashing' Lovino makes a slashing movement in the air like he was really fighting before continueing yet again, 'painting everything in a radius of two or three meters with a thick warm red liquid, such a beautiful yet loathing colour.'

He twirls the dagger around his hand and fingers, testing its balance and grip. Nodding satisfied that he still hasn't lost his touch. Turning on his heal, the Italian assassin searched for his shoulder-bag that he took with him on this journey. It was placed on the end from his one-person bed. Eyeing the shoulder-bag like it was the spawn of Satan and not like an ordinary shoulder-bag, picking it up, he throws it at the hardwood frame from his bed, like it would solve all his problems and miseries.

Sometimes I wish that the floor would just swallow me up...to just simply disappear, Romano thought miserably, until a grim and sorrowful smile replaced his blank face, I promised to _Angel_ I wouldn't think like that. I promised to a very special person to stay alive. Can't break my promise now, can I?

Pulling the necessary gear and equipments out, those where; a dark black cloak, two same black leather bands, a simple golden cross with a single smal pendant in the middle and a leather bound book.

Collapsing on the chair that the English bastardo pulled out off nowhere, taking the book in his tanned hands. The leather book is what Angel gave to me—a long time ago, when we first became friends. It feels like it was just yesterday—even if it happened more then a few centuries ago, he recalled, a small nostalgic—but nonetheless—happy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

* * *

~~Memory~~

I bursted out the door, looking for my friend Angel, she said she wanted to speak me at the fountain in the centre from the flower garden. I runned down the familiar path that leaded to a huge, but beautiful fountain.

I found her sitting at the edge, she looked so lost—almost lonely—she has a book on her lap, her hands were rested on it, so I couldn't see what kind of book it was.

I called her name multiple times. She looked up, right in time to see me, because then I was in front of her. She shot up to her feet and hugged me tightly, like, she was afraid that I would go, that I would disappear.

"Swawasdee, Rovi!" She chirped, "Thanks for coming here as fast that you can, ana~!"

"Ciao, Angel! Why did you want to speak to me?" I asked her, before pleading her a favor, "Would you please let me go? I almost can't breathe."

She let me go, tucking a strand hair sheapish behind her ear, "Sorry, ana~. I lost it there." But her never ending smile never faded away, it become more and more angelic and more sincerely—not the smile she whore on her lips to make people feel comfortable around her—whenever she saw me—and I'm happy that I could make her feel that way, that she isn't lonely anymore, that I always be at her side—_she always would say that, yes, she was alone but not lonely—but I know she wanted somebody to lean on and to talk to from time to time. It makes me angry, how can you neglect such a wonderful person like Siam?—_She makes me feel like that to. She makes me feel needed, loved and I know she care for me deeply, truly. That's all I need too know. I smiled, "Why did you want to speak to me?"

She tilted her head at the side, questioning me—honestly, she can be such a airhead. And thick headed, too. She looked at me a few more times curiously, like that I have the answer written on my face—then she noticed the book in her hands.

There was a new glint in her eyes, "Oh that, ana~!" she snapped her fingers. She takes my hand, pulling me along and demanding me to sit down. When I sat down, she sat then next to me.

Her cheeks where a light pink, a small shy smile tugging on her lips, before she spoke, "Italy Romano, I give you this book in token of our friendship." She paused, "You are my first best friend." Again a pause, "But Toto was my first friend..." Tugging on her hair thoughtful, biting the inside of her lips. "So that makes you my second best friend?" She hesitated, again, in her words, throwing her arms in the air and exclaiming bitterly. "Ugh, why is this so difficult?"

I placed a hand on her shoulder, even giving a little squeeze. "It's okay, Angel, I'm used to be second best." I assured her, she really has nothing to worry about. I'm used to it.

"No, it's not okay!" She snapped furiously, "You may be okay with it, but I'm not!" Crossing her arms defensively, glaring heatedly ad me, daring me to say another word.

I raised my hands in surrender, knowing her that she's even more stubborn than me when she sets her mind on a particular subject. I rolled my eyes in annoyance, but deep down inside I was drowning in happiness, floating on cloud nine—she always wanted to make me feel first, make me feel needed in everything and anything.

She's so sweet! I thought to my self.

The she snapped her fingers, her eyes shine with a new glint, happiness—I guess—with a hint mirth. Grinning deviously. I raised a eyebrow, silently questioning her what she got on her sleeve this time.

"But you are my first human friend!" She chirped happy, gleefully and a broad, dashing, pleasant smile adorning her lovely face, completing her good nature more and more.

In return I smiled, she always wanted to make me feel at first place. It's comforting, reassuring, to know that whatever I do, she always will stand behind me.

She handed me the book, it has a smooth brown surface, it was not an ugly colour brown, but a deep chocolate colour. I opened it, the pages where still white, the pages were pleasant—strange enough.

"Rovino...," she said softly, almost shyly.

I hummed in response, telling her that I'm listening, I looked in her warm eyes, curiously.

"I want that you keep this book always with you, okay?"

A nod.

"If we me I'm going to write something inside it okay? You only can look when I'm away. Got it?"

A nod.

"if you don't have it with you," she thought thoughtfully, thinking and searching for the right words to say next, her eyes was closed so I couldn't see what she was thinking or reading her eyes, but her playful smile that certainly promises mischief predict any good. "I'm going to tickle you senseless!" She said brusquely, without any warning she tackled me and tickles me, the book toppled on the ground.

We were falling in the fountain but I could care less, and so did she. She was laughing and splashing water at my face—but I'm not any better, I did just the same thing.

Laughing and making fun.

~~End memory~~

* * *

Romano's fingers ghosted over the book, there was inscriptions but it was in Thai, he couldn't read nor write Thai, but, he _could_ speak _and_ understand it. Angel thought him after all—with much patience and encouragement and cursing that mostly came from his side.

Opening the book he skimming through the pages, looking for the first sentence that she wrote. He finds it, she always put the date in the right corner so that makes it easier to find. He shuts the book with a loud snap, not wanting to deal with the sudden rush of memories. It had been a while since he last has looked inside the book, readed the words scribbled neatly on the slightly torn pages.

The brunet sighed exasperatedly, raking a hand throw go his brown locks and stands up. He carefully places the book on his beads idea table for later, for now, he has other matter to attend and he wouldn't think to let such a perfect chance like those slide. Oh _hell_ no.

He swings the dark cloak over his shoulder and secures the chain strap around his neck, he put his knife holsters on his thighs making shire to place the throwing knives in each hole, he places his daggers in his brown boots and lastly his wrists-protectors strapped around his wrists. He flicks his hands, testing how flexible it is.

He takes long strides to come to his door, that leads to the deck. He opens the door in one fluid motion but not forgetting to pull the cover over his eyes that covered almost the half of his face.

In a mere secome, Romano's gone, disappearing into thin air. A shadow leaving its trails of death behind it who dared to cross his path...

* * *

The ship docka right next to the Britannia Angel, they never thought they would get this lucky. The rumour says that she's _loaded_ with gold, jewels, gems and more riches that you can think of. You think a ship fully loaded with treasure would make her slow? Oh no, it's quite the opposite, she is fast. If the Blackbraire Interprise would go at her normal speed, they would not managed to catch up, the only reason that they could dock onboard; was because she lighted the anker, otherwise they would have lost her.

It's a every pirate's dream to defeat the Infamous Arthur Kirkland, King of the Pirates, ruler of the seven seas and Atlantic Ocean—to be the new _king_ and _ruler_. _To enter her claim and her as their own_. The Britannia Angel is even more magnificent and empresive than the Black Pearl, with over than hundred-twenty large canons, fifty little canons, hundred harpoons, tree masted ship—for sure with tree little ones—black sails of course with tree flags, one from the Rolly Joger, one from England and the other one her signature flagship.

It was not the classical skull and crossbones. Yes it was for the most part—that is—but with a simple cross going vertically right between the eyes, from far you would think it's a sword, but if you are close enough, you can see that it's indeed a cross, lastly it was adorned with red roses and thorns—England's national flower. Lastly there's a angel with her wings folded, protecting her body.

The ship has a strange aura that seems to be clinging on her, it's not only because of the fog, but, something is wrong. They can _feel_ it in their spine...

They are wary with every step they take. She seems...abdonned? Wat's going on? What's happening?

They hear the sound of footsteps, faintly but it was there. A gleam of glinstering maniacal eyes was the last thing they would ever see.

* * *

Engeland sighs, was it really a good idea to let him stay alone on the ship? If something happens to Romano, Spain would come after his head and the git wouldn't stop until the Brit is dead. Spain is like a mother duck, doting and very annoying.

"Say, Artie?" The red-head begins.

The blond captain hums in reply.

"Why did he want to be alone?" He questions curiously.

"Romano says that he wants to let his anger loose." England answer to the question, but even so, he really want to know the _real_ reason behind it.

"Oh, really?" How strange.

"Yeah."

Silence.

Their head snap upwards. They hear an agonizing scream, filled with pure pain. What's going on?! What's happening?!

"Help us," they hear faintly, "somebody, _please_! _No_!"

That voice...

It's followed by another scream and another and another...

* * *

**A.N:**

**So, it's _finally_ ****done (not like I spend much time in writing it)! Well, this chapter anyways...it's shorter than I've imagined. And was finished a lot later than I thought it would. Shame, but I just ouldn't help it. Sorry again. I really am terrible sorry, there are no words that could describe what I'm feeling right now... Anyways, the good stuff will come later, believe me, it's good I've waited a long time to write the next part. **

**Sincerely, **

**-JessicaStarCrossed **


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